Rebecca Buchanan
Oak, Ash, and Crow
- i know that the trees move
i am the last
in the last house
on the last street
in the last city
fallen to oak and ash and thorn
when i look away
they lift their roots
digging furrows deep into earth
exposing burrows
coiling worms
labyrinths of ants
by day
crows caw
from their restless branches
mocking
by night
owls watch
wild-eyed and silent
they know my fate
i am the last
the trees are coming
- The Tales of Corvids
corvids are collectors
you know
baubles and bits
and shiny things
that match the gleam
of their ebony eyes
they collect other things
stories mostly
owls may be wise
but it’s the corvids who know
the tales of old
they remember
the towers of glass and steel
and the canyons
and the tiny patches of green
where people would throw them
bits of bread and beads
they remember
when the people went away
the rushing winds
and the reborn rivers
wearing away the glass and steel
they made nests inside those crumbling towers
pulled threads and buttons and cufflinks
and built treasure piles for themselves
and their greedy chicks
and told them tales
of the noisy world
now grown quiet and green
_______________
Rebecca Buchanan is the editor of the Pagan literary ezine, Eternal Haunted Summer. She has been previously published in Abyss and Apex, Eye to the Telescope, Faerie Magazine, Polu Texni, Silver Blade, Star*Line, and other venues.
Editor’s Notes: An apocalypse picture of a surreal tree-like structure (Pixabay) is combined with a crow silhouette for this ominous 2-part poem.
